


Her

by basketcasewrites



Series: Fictober 2018 [3]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Fluff, this is Muscled Brunnhilde and Trans Lesbian Carol Danvers only territory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basketcasewrites/pseuds/basketcasewrites
Summary: They light a fire every night.It's become sort of a tradition of theirs.(prompt 3 of myfictober prompts list: fire)





	Her

"Turn the fire up," Brunnhilde says, her voice soft. She runs a towel down her hair, a waterfall of brown which cascades the length of her back and sticks to her skin. Her barefooted steps are light against the hardwood floor.

Carol nudges the firewood with a poker, a slim metal rod with a silver tip. Gifted to them three months ago, when actually throwing a housewarming party was a shocking thought.  
When, holding hands so tightly it was a wonder they didn't break any fingers, they stood in the doorway and stared.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," Carol murmurs, watching the flames for any sign of growing. "Can you Google this?"

Brunnhilde raises her shoulders into a gentle shrug. "Probably. But I won't."

"I'm not a fire expert, Brun."

"Weren't you in the Boy Scouts?" Brunnhilde asks around a teasing smile, finding her way behind the large, fully-stocked bar nestled in the corner.

All rich wood and elegant lines, she doesn't know how they had managed it. What she does know is that, after everything, she and Carol deserve it.

"For a short while, yes," Carol concedes, harmless argument in her voice.

"Wait." Her hand hovers over a curving glass bottle of gin. "Weren't you a troop leader? Something like that?"

Carol holds back a short laugh. Crouching in front of the fireplace, she settles back onto her heels and points the poker at Brunnhilde. "Stop listening to me speak, okay?" Her eyes narrow. "Just believe me when I say I can't do things."

A shake of her head, a laugh which settles on her lips. "You want some of this—" Brunnhilde paused to squint at the label, elegant and indecipherable, "Whiskey. _Hm_ , you want some of this whiskey?"

An involuntary action probably, Carol pulls her face into a frown. An almost comical draw of her mouth, a shake of her head. "Mix me something fruity."

The way she says it, the subtle command of a queen, one who always got what she asked for, curves Brunnhilde's mouth into a smile.

"You never learned to fix a fire; I never learned to mix a drink."

"This is lesbophobia," Carol says. She breathes out an exhale of air and drops back, stretches out on the blanket she had set out early that evening. A wave of her hand down the passage, to the door. "I think it's time you left my house."

A drink in each hand— her double finger of whiskey, Carol's hastily yet expertly mixed cocktail— Brunnhilde walks around the bar, takes a short walk to Carol.

"As if you can live without me," she states plainly.

The fire burns steadily now. It dances in the stone fireplace, sends its waves of heat into the expansive living room, curls around Brunnhilde as she curls around Carol.

"You know the house is big enough now," Carol begins. Idle and in thought, she runs a manicured hand over Brunnhilde's arm; traces the dips and swells of the muscles.

All these years together— almost eight now, Brunnhilde realizes with a tiny start— and they are still as fascinated by each other. Probably, and she feels it to be true, even _more_ fascinated.

She watches Carol. And the look in her clear eyes pushes Brunn's lips into a smile. She flexes under her delicate touch. Says, "What? Or are you going to stay silent the whole night?"

"Oh, do that again," Carol ignores the questions and urges, a flush in her cheeks and a glint in her eyes. The soft pink turning a deep shade of red at the at the repeated flex of muscle.

"You're so strange." A chuckle, a kiss to Carol's nose. God, she loves her. "So? Do you have something to say... Or is staring into the near distance your new hobby?"

"Everything you say is some kind of question." Carol pokes at Brunnhilde's arm. "Some kind of an argument."

A corner of the cushion digs into the exposed small of her back. Shuffling and making herself more comfortable, Brunn turns from her side to lay flat on her back.  
Without prompt, but for the nudge of Brunnhilde's arm, Carol shifts with.

She loves being held, Brunn knows. Ever since they were teenagers— finding each other at parties and sneaking in through cracked bedroom windows— Carol would wind her way around Brunnhilde's body, settle under her strong hold, cling to her as if she were the only source of warmth in the room.

She nestles close. The top of her head meeting the bottom of Brunnhilde's chin. The flat of her hand against the span of Brunnhilde's chest, smooth fingers against bare skin and thin tank top material.

"It's what you get for asking the debate leader out on a date."

"You're right," Carol agrees with a hum, a dip of her head. "It's definitely what I deserve for asking her to marry me."

"I should've said no." Never in a million years could she have said no. Not to Carol.

Carol bumps her fist against Brunnhilde's chest, lightly and without any malice. " _Please._ I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you."

The fire sizzles, as if in agreement with Carol. She's not like Carol— words don't come to easily to her, not where actions do.

Brunnhilde hooks her index finger under Carol's chin. Tilting her face up to meets hers, Brunn places a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose. The stub of her chin.

She smells like berries and lavender, like the organic lotion only she uses. When Brunnhilde kisses her, Carol tastes like the cocktail she just drank, like the tiramisu they had ordered in for dessert.  
The feel of her lips as they quirk into a smile sends a jolt through Brunnhilde, one that burns in her cheeks and travels to her fingertips, to the tips of her toes. She meets the smile with one of her own.

"So, Car... the question?"

 _Children,_ the thought is fleeting through her mind. _A cat, a dog. A whole new house._ Carol could ask for anything and Brunn would probably say yes. She is weak for her; undoubtedly and unashamedly weak in her love for her.

"I was saying, we have all this space now," Carol settles her weight onto her elbow, meets Brunnhilde's eyes and says. "We have all those friends, with all those children and nieces and nephews... Don't laugh. Halloween is basically around the corner, isn't it?"

Brunnhilde holds back her chuckle. "You want to throw a Halloween party? I thought you were going to ask for... Something else. A party? Sure, babe."

"No no no." Carol corrects. "I want to throw a Halloween _extravaganza_." She stresses the word, widens her eyes.

"I swear to the Gods," Brunnhilde says, "you are the most dramatic person I know."

A chuckle. Her breath warm on Brunn's skin. "You love me."

"I do." She does.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see how I procrastinate, shoot me some asks or just hang out, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shuriidyke)


End file.
